<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Peaches by LucyCamui1450</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29049372">Peaches</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucyCamui1450/pseuds/LucyCamui1450'>LucyCamui1450</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>N/A - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 12:55:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,120</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29049372</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucyCamui1450/pseuds/LucyCamui1450</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a little short story I wrote a while back.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Peaches</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Peaches </p><p> </p><p>A five year-old girl looks up at her father. He was peeling fruit, a peach, as he glanced down at her. He looked to be about a billion feet tall in her eyes, but, in reality, he was six feet tall. His hair looked to be orange in the little girl’s eyes, and his eyes, as blue as winter mint. She didn’t even know what that color was (she was only five), and neither did he, he couldn’t see color, not without his glasses anyway. The little girl kept looking up at her father. </p><p>He eventually spoke, “Kyra, pull up your little steps and come watch me.”</p><p>His voice had always sounded like he came from another land. The little girl, Kyra, had always found it funny the way his voice sounded, along with the way he said certain words. She pulls out what looks like to be a small staircase, and climbs up two steps, her freckled nose just barely reaching the counter. And the freckles, oh my God, the freckles. They spread from the bridge of her nose to about the end of her cheeks on both sides of her face, same thing with both her father and her mother. Kyra had called them ‘freckers’ for as long as she could remember. </p><p>“Wanna help me make the ice cream?” He asked. Kyra nodded. She stepped onto the last step, making her a bit taller. </p><p>Her father moved the peeler across the peach with a certain grace. The peels fell into the metal bowl below him, making a soft thud. Kyra watched as the peels curled, and then dropped into the bowl. Her eyes followed the peels, and her hand attempted to reach into the bowl, but her father stopped her. </p><p>“What are you doing, silly?” He asked, looking at her and smiling. Kyra automatically pulled her hand back and shook her head. She didn’t want to say her true motive, eating the peach peels. In reality, Kyra was the only person she knew that would eat them. <br/>To her, they were furry little bits of bliss. There were a few minutes of silence between the two of them, to what felt like hours to Kyra. Until her father took a breath. A long, awaiting, breath.</p><p>“You know,” her father starts to speak again. Kyra glanced over at him with her big brown eyes. Eyes that haven’t gone through hell and back just yet. </p><p>“Poppy used to make this all the time for your uncles, aunts, and I. Did you know that?” He asked. Kyra nodded once more. She actually didn’t know, she just wanted to seem intelligent to her father. </p><p>He smiled and proceeded to peel the peach. Kyra looked up at him and snatched his arm with her hand. He halted peeling and glanced in her direction. Her hand looked much darker compared to his. He was very pale, and Kyra, a mix of his skin, and her mother’s. </p><p>“What is it, my angel?” He asked, looking down at her. She tried to speak.</p><p>“Why are we making it?” Kyra inquired. She was genuinely curious. Her curiosity ran wild at this age, asking questions was kind of her strong suit at this point.  </p><p>It took him a few minutes to find the words he wanted. Trying to explain that the recipe was really because his father had an abundance of peaches and nothing to do with them wouldn’t be easy to explain to a five-year-old. He thought to himself for a minute and tried again to find an appropriate way to explain it to her. But, once again, nothing. Should he tell a lie? No, never. He could never lie to his daughter. Could he make up an elaborate story about his not-so-great childhood and mask it as a memory? Indeed. Indeed he could. He took a breath and began. </p><p>“Well, we’re making it because it’s a memory from my childhood that I’ve wanted you to experience for a while now,” He responded, cutting the ends of the peach off, and placing them into the bowl. </p><p>“And it’s always a good memory to look back on.” He smiled, before picking Kyra up and hugging her, then planting a kiss on her cheek. Kyra laughed and laughed, which in turn, brought about her father's laugh too. </p><p> </p><p>But now, all the good memories had left. Kyra had gotten older, her teenage years flying by, and so had her father, his teenage years so far behind him. His body had shrunken with age, and his hair turned from light orange to light gray, soon to be snow white. His eyes were once bright and cheerful, now void of the cheer, and dimming ever so slowly. His health had gradually declined over the years, twenty years to be exact. He lay in a hospital bed, with his kids all around him. Kyra kneeled at the foot of the bed, her head at his feet. </p><p>“Daddy, please. Don’t leave me. Think, think of all the good memories I’ve had with you! Please!” She cried, begging him to stay alive a little longer.</p><p>“Daddy, do you remember the times we used to make peach ice cream together? Do you?” She begged, trying not to cry in front of her father.</p><p>He nodded. “Kyra, my angel, yes I remember, but, don’t worry about me. Soon, I’ll be with God.” He said, his voice becoming more hoarse. Kyra made her way to the front, placing her hand over her father’s. His eyes trail over, and squeezed her hand ever so gently. The hand that once held hers with such great strength, now had that strength fading away. The hand that made her her favorite foods, the hand that held her close when she was ill, the hand that did everything for her. </p><p>“Please, don’t go…” Her voice broke, and the tears began to flow. They ran down Kyra’s cheeks, then joined at the chin, and dripped onto the sheets that smelled like they had been bleached one too many times. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll try, my angel.” He replied, reaching for her other hand, to hold them both close, and to kiss them.</p><p>“Please, stay with us. Stay with me… Please, Daddy…” Kyra begged, as her father’s eyes began to close, and the strength in his hand finally faded. Kyra’s eyes widened. </p><p>“No, Daddy, no! You can’t die now! Please! Please! Stay with me!” She cried out. It felt as if she was talking to a wall. The family all around her lowered their heads, but not Kyra, who sighed. She bent down and gave her father one final kiss. </p><p> </p><p>“I love you, Daddy. I’ll see you soon, okay? Never forget how much I love you.” </p><p> </p><p>Fin</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>